


Hilt VI

by chains_archivist



Series: Hilt by Nonie Rider [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: BDSM, Boys in Chains, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:04:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Nonie Rider</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hilt VI

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).

Scully saw Mulder waiting at the gate as she disembarked, and was amazed to see that he looked relaxed and healthy. 

"Hey, Scully!" 

"Mulder, you didn't have to come pick me up." It was impossible not to smile back at him. 

"What, and trust you to a DC airport limo? Someone might have mistaken you for a White House intern and abducted you for a prolonged debriefing. " As he often did when he was glad to see her, he rested his hand in the small of her back and matched his walk to hers. 

"So how's your sister-in-law?" 

She shook her head cheerfully. "She's fine; little Billy is fine; it's Chris who's a wreck." 

"Aha!" His returning grin held no sign of strain. "Mother Gives Birth, But Father Feels Pangs. Face of Elvis (or is it Jesus?) Appears in Spilled Formula." 

"Opening a casefile already, Mulder?" God, it was good to see him like this again, as if the darkness and agony of their past years had left no mark on him. Last week she'd left a broken man alone with his worst enemy despite her better judgment. And now look at him. "So what's this I hear about VICAP and Omaha?" 

"Yup," he said, and tipped an invisible hat to her. "We got the Northside Mangler. Anderssen, Tors Anderssen. Got him clean. So if you're planning to retire there, put on twenty pounds, and dye your hair blonde, you'd no longer be at risk." 

"Mulder, that's wonderful! Are you-- I know profiling serial killers can be pretty hard on you," she probed delicately. 

"Well, this went pretty well for once. No shoot-out, no last-minute victim, just a straightforward collar and solid evidence to back it up." 

"How did you get onto him?" 

"Those choke-chains. VICAP was looking for someone associated with dogs or hardware stories, but I figured it was more a fascination with hangings. So we hit the public library and got a list of people who'd checked out books on executions..." He spotted her luggage before she did, and scooped it off the carrell over her protests. Dear God, he was actually whistling. 

She had to ask. "Mulder, is he-- Did you--" 

He didn't pretent not to understand. "Gone since Monday. Took off when I was out running--I thought he might--but I'm not worried. He left me a note. Well, sort of a note." 

She raised one eyebrow in query. 

"He stacked all my Schwartzenegger movies on the couch. The way I look at it, that means either he's left me for a European bodybuilder, or, like Arnie says--" 

Shaking her head, she couldn't stop herself from joining in: "'I'll be baahck.'" 

*** 

Mulder was still whistling when he let himself into his apartment that evening, so he didn't even hear movement before the arm was around his neck and a cold muzzle stirred the hairs at the base of his skull. 

He knew who it had to be, even before he fully registered the inhuman hardness of the forearm across his throat. A flood of emotions paralyzed him--fear, lust, anger, relief, hope... He made himself relax and speak casually. "Hi, honey, I'm home. I hope the Beaver's been a good boy." 

He tried not to look too smug when he heard Alex snerk. But the plastic arm and the steel gunbarrel didn't yield. "So, Mulder." 

"So, Krycek." 

"Second thoughts? Now that you've had a week of what passes for real life, and time to think about it?" Alex's voice was smooth and faintly mocking, and Mulder couldn't hear the faintest trace of real emotion in it. 

Fuck! What if the man had come to his senses and was laughing at him? What if the whole thing had been a horrible set-up? No, the hell with it. Better to look like a fool than risk losing-- losing-- 

"Alex, I'm hurt." He tried to match Krycek's tone. "You think I'm the slam-bam-thank-you-ram kinda guy? Cuff and tell? No, I haven't changed my mind. Have you? I'd have gotten you a card, but Hallmark doesn't seem to have the right category." 

"Mmm." Krycek sounded thoughtful. "Would that be a variant of Get Well? *Love you like/Stars, sun and moon;/Hope those bruises/Fade real soon*?" 

"You know, Alex, might be some money in that. Belated Birthday Beatings; So Glad to Hear You're in Bondage; Missing You (Because I'm Still Learning to Use This Whip)." 

"Happy Birthday, Bottom. You're Invited to a Golden Shower. Thank You for Coming." 

"You got it. So, could you either let go of me or put on some waltz music?" 

"I don't think so, Mulder." The regret in Krycek's voice chilled him, until the younger man spoke again. "Don't worry, I wouldn't shoot you at this range; this jacket's a bitch to clean. And I'm not selling you to the Samoans or my secret cadre of deaf albino Basque separatists. I just want us to talk elsewhere, and I don't feel like arguing. So let's ditch your guns and cellphone, shall we?" 

Suppressing his first impulses towards violence, Mulder decided to comply. "So you're the one with second thoughts?" 

"Maybe. But not the kind you're thinking. Okay, let's see... Handcuff yourself--no, in front--and hand me the key. Careful! Good." 

//Not serious restraint, then, or he'd have my arms cuffed behind me.// Baffled, feeling both anger and affection twisting in him, Mulder went where Krycek directed: to the elevator, down to the basement, past the cramped laundry room and through an unmarked door beyond it that Krycek unlocked without effort. 

The water heater; water-softener units; fuses. A faint smell of mold and dust, and a trace of cobwebs in the corners. 

Krycek closed the door behind them, placed his gloved right hand on Mulder's chest, and pushed him sharply back against the wall. "Stay there." 

"Krycek, what the fuck is this about?" 

"Mulder, I meant what I said last week. All of it. But we need to get a few things straight." Pacing, Krycek still watched him with a predator's eye. 

"Like what?" God, the traitor's abrasive tone was getting to him, as it always had. 

"Ownership, for one. Which is mutual, or it's nothing. You nearly killed me for cutting myself, you know that? Fucking stupid solution, isn't it." 

"And cutting yourself isn't, asshole?" 

Krycek leaned back against the closed door, but Mulder could see the vibrating tension behind his casual mask and hear the iron control in his voice. "You nearly killed me. And you know, I couldn't tell whether that was because you l-loved me and didn't want me to be hurt, or because you felt like you owned me and I'd fucked up your property. Well, guess what, Mulder? You don't own a fucking thing that I don't give you. I'm not your slave. I'm not your dog. Either I'm your lover, or I'm out of here." 

"So what do you want, Krycek?" 

"I told you that, remember? I want everything. And that includes the pain. But it's not something you take; it's something I give you. And something you give me. If there's ownership, we own each other. Mutual or nothing. No, you're fucking right I don't want to hurt you, and you know that sometimes I want you to h-hurt me. But I'm not your property." 

"Fuck, Krycek! Did I treat you like it? I-- I... Oh, hell, maybe you're right. Maybe that was part of it. That old testosterone crap, wanting to claim my territory and roar. But mostly it was because I couldn't stand to see you hurt." 

Mulder heard his own words even before Alex snorted. "Damn it, Krycek, you know what I mean. I-- When you want pain and I give it to you, that's a bond, you know? A--a sharing, an act of love. But to cut yourself like that, that's just self-hatred, and I'm damned if I'm going to let you do that." 

Krycek was still shaking his head, his teeth just showing in a half-bared grin. "Yeah, Mulder, I know what you mean. But I dare you to explain it to anyone else." 

"As if I'd want to. Okay, so what else?" 

"Well, for another thing, this," and Mulder hadn't even seen him moving up, but suddenly he was almost too close, close enough that Mulder could smell the leather and musk, the faint beer-and-smoke scent of a bar lingering stale from another night, the slightest tang of gun oil and the smell of Alex under it all. So close that Mulder could feel Alex's heat against his skin, the warmth of his breath as those lips found him and came home. Ah, God, the feel of him, the unbearable rightness of their mouths together... 

Krycek pulled away with obvious reluctance, and Mulder forced himself not to stop him. "Mulder--" the voice was gentle, strangely sad, and he felt the chill of fear again. 

"Mulder, look around. Did Scully tell you about seeing me here?" 

"What?" 

"No, you probably weren't very coherent. Scully saw me deliver an altered water-softener unit, back when... after you had gone crazy in the hall and attacked Skinner. After your father's death." 

Something coiled cold and sick in Mulder's belly. "She did tell me. She said I'd been drugged." 

"That's right." Krycek spoke with the distant kindness of a surgeon with bad news. "I saw the report afterwards too. It didn't just affect you; one of your neighbors shot her husband, another tried to kill himself..." 

"Why?" The word hurt his throat. "Why did you do it?" 

"That's what we have to get straight. You see, Mulder, I'm not going to justify myself to you. Not ever. Not for that, not for your father's death or Scully's abduction or any of the other things you've hated me for. There's no point in my giving you reasons. I did those things. I did other things. Some of them turned out to be worse than useless; others saved more people than you'll ever know. 

"But that's who I am, Mulder. I'm the man who did all those things. And you knew it when you hit me; you knew it when you raped me with a knife-hilt. But I'm not sure you're remembering it very well any more." 

"Oh, I remember it, you son of a bitch." 

Krycek shook his head with something like pity. "Do you? You just kissed the lips that betrayed your partner. I told them how dangerous she was, how dangerous she made you, and they decided it was time to do something about her." 

"Damn it, Alex! Why are you doing this?" 

Alex's eyes closed for a moment, as if he were very tired. "Because you're going to remember it eventually. Because some time when my hand touches you, you're going to remember that it pulled the trigger. Because the last time we were together, you sucked the cock of your father's killer. And if you hide from that truth, it'll destroy us." 

"STOP IT!" Mulder's raw scream startled them both. "God damn you, Krycek, do you really think I could forget? Do you think I didn't know that? Yes, I want to know your reasons; yes, of course I wish you did it all for something noble and heroic. Because I love you. But no reason in the world could change the fact that you killed my father. And I can't forget or forgive that. Ever. 

"So I can either hate you or love you. We're stuck with each other. 

"And God help me, I love you." 

And then he was shaking too hard to talk, and Krycek bowed his head briefly before reaching out that gloved hand to brush away his furious tears. "I'm sorry, Mulder." 

Mulder could only nod. //Me too.// 

And then, seeing Alex's eyes still masked against the fear of loss, he reached out slowly with his cuffed hands and spread them to frame the half-healed face and bring it gently to his own. //God, Alex, how could you have betrayed Scully to them? And how can I betray her now by loving you?// But if he could not forgive, then what was this nameless tenderness he gave him now, this need to put some kind of healing in his kiss? 

Alex made a small noise and pulled Mulder to him as he traded him kiss for kiss, soft and light like rain falling. Mulder tried to hold him tighter, but growled in frustration as the cuffs intervened. The younger man shuddered at the sound and leaned into him, pinning him back against the wall as his kisses deepened. One leg slid warm and solid between Mulder's thighs, and he thought the lightning would burn him alive. 

Finally Alex pulled away, and Mulder caught a ragged breath. "So, Krycek, is that all? Can we go upstairs now and do something about this?" 

Krycek's eyes glittered under their long-lashed veil. "Mulder, I want you to fuck me. I want you crammed all the way up my ass and pounding so hard I can't find breath to scream." 

Mulder felt his lips pull away from his bared teeth. "Yes. Let's do it." He was so hard it hurt and he'd never done that but he'd figure it out somehow and God upstairs was too far away and he wanted it right now-- 

"But--" Krycek added with a sidelong smile. 

"But what, you fucking asshole!" Christ, was the man just playing with him again? 

"But there's one more thing." 

"Then get it the fuck over with and let's GO, damn it!" He was going to strangle Alex, he was sure of it. This was no time for playing games-- 

And that leather-gloved palm slid firehot down the line of his arousal. "When you fuck me, I want you to know what you're doing to me." 

"What?" God, were his hormones completely fogging his brain? 

"When you're inside me. When you do me. I want you to know what it feels like, so you know exactly how you're making me feel." And his hand slid further down between Mulder's legs. 

"Uh--" Mulder was sure his brain had shorted out. 

"So I'm going to fuck you first. Now. Unless you stop me." 

One part of Mulder flared into rage; was the traitor changing the terms now, expecting Mulder to roll over and take it? But those eyes glittered warm, not cold, and in them Mulder could see the hope and fear, the heat and the desperate plea. 

And knowing that he was indeed being offered a gift and not a vengeance, Mulder chose consent. Raising his cuffed hands to rest behind his head, he offered his undefended body, throat and belly and groin, to the man who had betrayed him more than once and might again. 

Those green eyes masked themselves in shock or something else, and Mulder heard his breath catch. 

And then that hand fisted itself on his belt buckle and pulled him in for another kiss, body hot against body all down their near-matched length. Stretched this way, Mulder could feel the hard metal at Krycek's breast grinding against him, and the raised lines of the arm-straps beneath his shirt. And below, welcome madness, the hidden shaft that rubbed against his own and made him drunk with fire. 

He could have stood there burning forever, lost in the frictioned rightness of this embrace, but Krycek's hand moved to open his belt and free him from his all-confining clothes. 

He surrendered to the traitor's touch and closed his eyes, the better to feel the brush of fabric against sensitized skin as Krycek stripped him. Finally, the younger man unlocked one cuff so he could work the sleeves free. A soft warmth moved against his freed wrist, and he opened his eyes again to see those lips pull away and smile. 

"Here, Mulder," and Krycek pulled his right glove off with his teeth and wrapped it around Mulder's wrist before he closed the cuff again. Then he peeled the other glove off the prosthetic and padded Mulder's other wrist. "I'm leaving the cuffs on in case you want something to, you know, struggle against, but despite all the kinky stories they can be pretty hard on the wrists." 

Mulder, remembering the terrible bruising of Krycek's wrist after the night on Skinner's balcony, was grateful and surprised at the courtesy. 

Krycek turned half away to strip, and Mulder saw that even after all they had done the younger man was blushing faintly as he exposed himself, fair and flawed together, to Mulder's view. Most of the bruises had faded, shadows of purple and green staining the pale skin as if an artist had done him in watercolors, highlighted with one small curving gleam of gold. 

And he was beautiful, so beautiful in form and movement that it hurt to watch him but hurt more to look away. 

Mulder had never cared about other men's looks before, never even admired, much less ached as he did now. But O God the lines of him were so clean and sharp, so right. The long, strong legs; the lean and powerful torso; the arms whose imbalance seemed a fitting match for the traitor's mind. 

And then Mulder let himself look fully at the straining shaft that speared out from Krycek's groin, dark and heavy with blood. 

And sheer terror washed over him. 

//That's a man's dick, a *dick,* and he's going to shove that thing up my ass and I'm going to just take it like any little faggot whore or prison bitch and I'll never be able to call myself a real man again and Jesus Christ that's big and it'll hurt like hell and why did I ever even think about letting him do this my God this is *Krycek* traitor enemy and he's getting back at me for that arm and he'll laugh at me while he makes me take it up the ass Jesus I've got to get out of here fight back stop him *stop*--// 

The face in front of him was moving, saying something, and he stared at it without understanding as his eyes blurred and stung with sudden sweat and his heart tried to crowd all air out of his lungs. 

"...der, Mulder, can you hear me? It's all right, Mulder." 

Words. Voice. Alex. What...? 

"Mulder?" 

Alex. Talk. "A...lex." God, he was shaking so hard-- 

"Mulder, it's all right." 

The words were meaningless, just empty sounds. His hands hurt; he only realized that they were cramped into claws against Alex's chest when that pale right hand came up to raise them to the bared throat. 

"It's all right, Mulder. See? I'm not going to hurt you. It's all right." Alex's face was sheened with sweat but his voice stayed level and calm. "You're in control here. Okay? You can kill me at any time, but you don't need to because everything's all right." Under Mulder's aching fingers, the still-bruised throat swallowed convulsively. 

"Al-ex?" 

"That's right. It's Alex. It's all right, Mulder." 

All right. Mulder blinked the stinging sweat out of his eyes and tried to focus. Alex. Alex Krycek. At his mercy, the neck vulnerable under his hands. No threat. 

Mulder made himself let go and leaned back against the rough cold concrete before his knees could give way. //Jesus!// 

Krycek stood unmoving and wide-eyed, and waited for him to sort himself out. 

//A panic attack. I haven't had one of those since that hotel fire. And for what? The sight of another guy's dick? Jesus, Mulder, get a grip. You know he isn't going to do anything you don't let him. You know that by now. And you've seen the damned thing before, idiot. You sucked it off and even fucking swallowed and it sure didn't make you less of a man. Hell, you threatened it with a *knife,* for God's sake, and he didn't pass out like you almost did just now.// 

//Look at him; he's terrified of you. Or for you. Say something!// 

"Sorry, Krycek," he managed to croak out. "Just realized I forgot to pay my cable bill. Now, where were we?" 

And by God the son of a bitch laughed. Laughed! Mulder found that he could smile himself after all, and even breathe. 

Alex visibly made himself relax, and ran his fingers through his own hair. "Mulder... Do you really want to try this?" 

//Deep breath, Mulder. Okay, another one. There you go.// 

"Krycek, will it spoil my reputation as a world-famous stud if I admit I'm scared shitless?" 

A flash of white teeth in that boyish grin he'd always wanted to smash or kiss away. 

"Krycek-- Alex--" 

"Hush..." Alex laid one long fingertip on Mulder's lips. "Don't distract yourself with words. Just feel." 

And he leaned into him again. They had never touched this way, fully bare; Mulder felt dizzy with the whole of Alex against him, soft and hard together, the warm silk of his skin and the textures of his body hair. Hesitantly, Mulder raised his cuffed arms and dropped them over Alex's head and shoulders to bind them together, feeling the knobbed perfection of his spine and the hollow of his back. He buried his face where Alex's neck met his shoulder, inhaling deeply, trying to drown his fear in the intoxicating scent of his lover's skin. 

Krycek moved against him subtly and let his hand slide down Mulder's hip and thigh, and Mulder felt his shrunken groin stir again. Then Alex dipped his head and ran a warm, soft tongue flat across his nipples in wide strokes that started a deep ache within him, like a hook catching in his gut with a tug half pain, half pleasure, and he felt his penis bloom and swell in the secret heat of Krycek's cupping hand. 

Against his inner thigh the hard pressure of the other man's cock burned red-hot and he knew himself marked for life, branded with this touch. 

Shaking, he waited for a sudden move, a nip or squeeze that would give some punctuation to this slow torment. But Alex's inexorable tongue continued its gentle strokes and the hand on him moved soft and slow, the palm drifting warm down his length. The long fingers never even touched his skin, only brushing the hair of his testes like moving air. 

The hook in his gut twisted, wanting more and now. Tightening his arms around his captive lover, Mulder bent his head to kiss his hair and tug one dark strand between his teeth, hoping the sting would drive Krycek to action. 

But the younger man only hummed and licked him again, the vibration maddening against his aching nipples. Then Krycek's mouth pulled away and he twisted in Mulder's arms to grin up at him, his lips wet and his long-lashed eyes gleaming bright and wicked. With lithe grace, he slid downward along Mulder's protesting body like water pouring through fingers and knelt at his feet. 

//Now, oh now please--// 

But Krycek's open mouth came no closer than to breathe warm air over his burning cock. 

"Damn it, Krycek!" 

A chuckle. 

And then the velvet heat of that wet mouth at last, sliding down his aching flesh and taking him in, until he was fully sheathed in Alex's throat. Around his shaft and head, he felt the muscles shift gloriously to swallow and seat him into position. 

And no more. 

Frictionless, unmoving, the fire held him and would not give him relief. 

Teeth grinding, he snapped his hips and tried to rub himself against that infuriating mouth, but Alex rode the movement and refused to yield. Only a quiet chuckle shivered against him and stopped. 

Mulder dug his cuffed hands into Krycek's hair and tried to force him to move, but Alex would not give. 

Finally, almost sobbing in frustration, Mulder surrendered, letting his hands rest soft on the dark hair like a benediction as he yielded to the waiting. In reward, he felt the tongue move minutely against his length, its subtle friction a promise, a kiss. 

Then Alex ran his hand up Mulder's belly and chest, brushing smoothly over one nipple and along his throat to come to rest on his lips. He could smell himself on those long fingers, a rich musk both like and unlike his lover's, and without conscious thought he opened his lips and the fingers slipped in. 

Sweat-salted, they tasted of sex and hidden pleasures and he claimed them with lips and teeth and greedy tongue, sucking and biting as he wanted Alex to do. And the fingers stroked the inside of his mouth in a lingering caress and slipped free. 

And as silent laughter moved against his cock, he felt the wet finger slide up the crack of his ass and touch him there. 

Convulsing, he hit his head against the wall behind him, but not even that jarring pain could blot out the feel of that touch. 

It was wrong, it was maddeningly wrong and alien and not sexual at all, like being tickled or poked in the armpit, and yet the sheer wrongness of it almost made him come. Just the feel of that fingertip resting against his anus shot fire through him and he was burning and cold with sudden sweat. 

//When had he closed his eyes?// But he hid in panic in the darkness behind his eyelids and fought to make it stop, to brace himself and feel nothing as the finger touched him and began to move in slow circles on his skin. 

He couldn't stop feeling it. Even that delicate motion cramped his gut with lust and terror, and he could have sworn he felt Krycek's heartbeat through the flesh that held his cock in unbearable stillness. 

And then the tongue moved fractionally on him again, and even as he cried out the finger slipped inside him. Just the tip, but the invasion burned with rough fire and his body tried desperately to expel the intruder. For a merciful second, the finger held still, but then it began to touch him inside, using every cramp and spasm to slide deeper and move against him, opening him to its touch. 

//O God stop it! Stop it I can't--I can't--O God this is too much I can't survive this stop no Jesus no I can't please make it STOP--// 

A slow friction along his cock at last, tongue and throat caressing him as a second finger forced him open and split him wide. O God, the burning agony of the invasion, and yet the mouth moved on him, the doubled hook in his gut twisting as he screamed with inseparable pleasure and pain. 

If his muscles had been his own, he would have beaten Alex around the head with his clenched fists, killing them both if he had to to make this stop. But all his body was weak and shaking, all his strength gone to the muscles that fought to drive the invader out, and in the mindless fire that drove him into Krycek's mouth. 

He was sobbing openly now, unable to control himself as the fingers probed him in unspeakable intimacy and the mouth on his cock soothed and maddened him beyond bearing. 

Pinioned between heaven and hell, he convulsed helplessly in painful pleasure and wanted most desperately to be dead; anything to make this stop, to free him from this battering flood of sensation that drowned and choked him with fire. 

But there was no escape, no hope of rescue, until his racked and spasming body could take no more and slammed all its rejection into Krycek's throat, screaming and coming and coming until the explosions drove all else away in the blinding flare of release and he could let himself fall into the welcome darkness beyond. 

*** 

The room was cold, but a warm body held him close and he was wrapped in something that smelled like leather. 

"Mulder, you wuss," the voice was quietly affectionate. "You're not supposed to faint until I bring out the studded zucchini." 

"i didn't faint, i swooned in your arms," Mulder managed to whisper past a throat that felt like torn parchment. 

"Arm," Alex corrected him. "Well, you're not supposed to do *that* until I sweep you off your feet and ask for your hand in marriage." 

"on your knees, with a ring" 

"Um. Well, yes..." 

"you did that" 

"Oh." 

"i do," whispered Mulder decisively and settled back against him.


End file.
